


Ain't That Kind of Movie

by orphan_account



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Civilian!Harry, Kingsman!Eggsy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has no idea why these men seemingly want to kill him and he supposes he’ll never find out, as he’s sure he cannot flee again should they find his current hiding place. <i>I should’ve just had my bloody tea without the milk</i>, he thinks ruefully. <i>I should know better than to walk to the corner shops after dark.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't That Kind of Movie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nillen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nillen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [pause the (tragic) ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3906118) by [Nillen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nillen/pseuds/Nillen). 



> I've had a chunk of this sitting on my computer for a while, but I didn't have any motivation to work on it. Then Nillen posted their FABULOUS Kingsman!Eggsy/Civilian!Harry fic which made me just want MORE of that kind of AU so I was like "oh hey I should finish mine!" 
> 
> You should go read Nillen's if you haven't already because did I mention how amazing it is?
> 
> Also I am American so I apologize for any misuse of British terms or blatant Americanisms.
> 
> Update: Commenter Ginn made some very good points about Harry's characterization here, so...I kinda overhauled the second half of the fic. Hopefully, it's an improvement. :)

_Oxfords may be the shoes of a gentleman,_ thinks Harry Hart absently as he runs, _but I would give anything right now for a good pair of trainers._

He sees an alley up ahead, and frantically dashes into it, darting behind a skip, nearly tripping over his own feet and knocking his head against the wall of the building behind him as he collapses to the ground, chest heaving as he gasps for air. He’s been running for what feels like days but a quick glance at his watch tells him was no more than five minutes, and his legs feel as though they're on fire. He has no idea why these men seemingly want to kill him and he supposes he'll never find out, as he’s sure he cannot flee again should they find his current hiding place. _I should’ve just had my bloody tea without the milk,_ he thinks ruefully. _I should know better than to_ _walk to the corner shops after dark._  

“ _Shit,”_ he hears, and he looks up blearily at the hissed epithet to see a young man in a perfectly tailored suit and a pair of stylish glasses kneeling down next to him, concern in his familiar green eyes. “ _Shit,_ Harry, are you all right?”

“Eggsy?” Harry asks, confused, because his husband was supposed to be out at the pub with his friends tonight, not crouched behind a skip in a dirty alley, dressed to the nines in a suit Harry had never seen before and holding a gun like he was born knowing how to use it. “What on earth are _you_ doing here?” 

“God _dammit,”_ Eggsy mutters, pressing his free hand into Harry’s shoulder. “We are _not_ having this conversation right now, Harry.” There is no trace of his usual accent in his voice; Eggsy speaks with the crisp tones Harry's only ever heard him use when he's working at the tailor's, and Harry wonders if he might have hit his head harder than he thought.

 “Why are those men chasing me? How did you find me? And why do you have a _gun_?”

 “Not _now,_ Harry,” Eggsy snaps, though his tone is belied by the gentle fingers now carding through Harry’s hair. "Where the  _fucking hell_ is my _goddamn_ backup?"

 "I--I have no idea," Harry stammers. 

"Not you," says Eggsy, with an odd little gesture towards his own face. "I was talking to--well, nevermind."

 Harry squints up at his husband, “Are you...some sort of secret agent or undercover detective?” he asks, thinking the question ridiculous even as it leaves his mouth. After all, this is real life, not a James Bond film.

 Eggsy flashes a brief smile down at him. “Sharp as a tack, as always, love,” he murmurs, shifting so he’s protecting Harry’s prone body from the men shooting at them from the entrance to the alley. His mouth curls a bit as he fires a few shots and he swears under his breath as he ducks away from the returned fire, the bullets pinging loudly against the sides of the skip. “You were most of the way there already,” Eggsy says casually as he reloads, pulling a clip from god knows where. “You’ve had suspicions about me for weeks.”

 “Yes,” Harry agrees as he attempts to sit up, bracing himself against the wall and managing to pull himself mostly upright. “But I thought you were having an affair.”

 Eggsy scoffs and tosses him a sidelong glance as he shoots again. “An _affair_? Why on _earth_ would I want to have an affair with anyone else when I’ve got you to come home to at night?”

 Harry blinks, bewildered. “Well…” he stammers. “I rather thought you’d been regretting that fact, lately.”

 Eggsy pauses and looks incredulously down at Harry. His mouth opens and closes a few times, as though he can’t quite figure out what to say. After a few moments of this, his face softens and he strokes the fingers of the hand not holding the gun through Harry’s fringe again before laying a gentle palm against Harry’s cheek. “Oh, love,” he sighs, his green eyes sad, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I ever made you think that I don’t love you. Because I do. I absolutely fucking _adore_ you.”

 Before Harry can reply, Eggsy turns and empties his gun at the men still shooting at him, who all fall to the ground with grunts of pain and stop moving. Eggsy stands, holsters his gun at the small of his back, then reaches a hand down for Harry to grasp. “We’ll finish this once we’re at home,” Eggsy says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple as Harry slowly gets to his feet. “I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” 

Harry’s not quite sure where to even _begin_ asking for his explanation, so he’s a bit relieved that home is a fifteen minute cab ride away, as he’s going to need some time to wrap his head around what’s just happened. 

Eggsy tilts his head slightly, as though listening to a voice only he can hear and his eyes harden as he says fiercely, the South London accent returning to his voice with each word, “I don’t give a _fuck_ about your precious fucking nondisclosure policy, Merlin; I'm not firing an amnesia dart at my own damn  _husband._ I’m telling him, and you _and_ Arthur can just _fuck_ _right off_. Now get the _bloody_ cleanup crew here before the police arrive.” He removes the glasses, folds them up, and shoves them rather forcefully into a pocket inside his suit coat. He turns back to Harry, and Harry watches as he seems to transform from Most Certainly Not A Mere Tailor to the man Harry knows, shoulders relaxed and eyes soft as he gently rests a hand at Harry's waist. “Are you sure you're okay, love?” Eggsy asks, and Harry can almost believe he imagined the last few minutes of seeing Eggsy calmly take down six men single-handedly. “Did they hurt you?” 

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m not hurt,” he replies. “Just a bit winded. And slightly unsettled, of course.” 

“Naturally,” agrees Eggsy. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” Harry allows Eggsy to lead him to a cab, where they ride home in silence, Harry keeping to his side of the cab with his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his gaze firmly out the window even as he can feel Eggsy’s concerned and apologetic eyes resting on the back of his head. 

As soon as the door to their home shuts behind him, Harry turns to his husband and demands, “Tell me everything.” 

 

* * *

  

“So,” Harry says slowly, digesting all the information he’s been handed over the last two hours, “you’re not _actually_ working as a tailor’s assistant.” 

Eggsy smiles slightly and shakes his head, leaning back against the plush sofa. “I mean, I know enough about suits and tailoring to fake it, unless someone actually wanted me to sew it right in front of them, but the shop is just a cover.” 

 “And...your name really _is_  Gary Unwin?” Harry can feel his expression growing more and more wary with each answer, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he forces himself to keep asking.

“Yes,” Eggsy says immediately, his smile dropping as he leans forward to grip Harry’s hand in his. “Everything else about me is _absolutely_ true. My name, my family, everything.”

"That doesn't seem very prudent for a spy."

"We met when I was being me," Eggsy explains. "So I just kept being me with you."

Harry hesitates, because this is the question he’s been dreading since this started. “I’m not a...target or anything like that? Marrying me wasn’t part of the job?”

 “ _Hell,_ no,” Eggsy declares, shaking his head. “I got told off a lot for it, actually. Our whole relationship has been a bee in Arthur’s bonnet; he’s always going on about how _good_   _spies don’t fall in love_.” 

“And...are you a good spy?” 

“Not if that’s what it means _,”_ Eggsy says firmly, his green eyes boring into Harry’s, begging him to believe. “ _God_. I swear. I fucking love you, I fucking _swear_ it’s true.” He raises their clasped hands to his lips and presses a fervent kiss to Harry’s knuckles. “This is completely real, I swear to God.”

 “And--” Harry hesitates again, feeling a bit silly even _asking_ this question, “is the rest of it like in the films? All the…seducing informants and so forth?”

 Eggsy winces and his face falls as he looks away for a moment. Harry sighs heavily. “I suppose that’s my answer.”

 “I _hate_ it, Harry,” Eggsy says hoarsely. “Every _damn_ moment where I have to pretend I want to be with anyone but you.”

 “I suppose that’s meant to be comforting?” Harry snaps, yanking his hand from Eggsy’s grasp. “The thought that my husband _doesn’t_ enjoy _prostituting_ himself.”

 Eggsy straightens up, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing. “The _fuck,_ Harry?” he exclaims, his jaw tight. “That’s not on. I ain’t a goddamn _prostitute_ and I won’t apologize for doing my fucking _job,_ which, _by the way,”_ he adds, pointing a finger at Harry’s nose, “has led to me helping save the _goddamn world_ on more than one occasion, and I’ll grit my teeth and fuck a _thousand_ lousy marks if it means keeping _you_ and the world safe, you fucking wanker.”

"While I certainly... _appreciate_ the sentiment," Harry shoots back, brow furrowing, "That doesn't negate the fact that you've been _l_ _ying_ to me for  _months_.For the  _entire_ time I've known you! About your job, about your whereabouts...after all, you weren't _really_ in Brighton visiting a client last weekend, were you--I thought not. You tell me I can trust you with everything else you've told me about yourself, but how can I? How can I believe in _anything_ you've told me, when you've been telling me  _so many lies?_ "

"If you trust nothing else," Eggsy pleads, eyes wide, "please, trust that I love you. That I only want to be with you. Ever."

"That's nice to know, but regardless of the reasons, you just admitted you've been _sleeping_ with other people  _without_ telling me!" Harry exclaims, clenching his hand into a fist and pressing it against his thigh. "I'll admit, my comment was uncalled for, but can you _blame_ me?" His voice rises until he's nearly shouting. "I nearly  _died_ tonight, Eggsy, in case you don't remember. I would have bled out alone in a fucking  _alley_ because you or your organization made someone angry and they knew what I meant to you. I would have died and I  _never would have known why_ because you made the  _deliberate_ decision not to tell me anything." He takes a deep breath, pressing his lips together in a tight line as he attempts to collect himself. "I'm your  _husband,_ Eggsy," he says, his hurt bleeding through the anger. "We're supposed to  _t_ _rust_ each other. And yet you couldn't trust me with this? How do you think that makes me feel?"

Eggsy flinches. “It's not that I don't trust you,” he says, voice low. "I've wanted to tell you for so long--"

"Then why  _didn't you?"_ Harry interrupts. "You _just_ said that you disobeyed your superiors in order to be with me in the first place. How would telling me the truth have gotten you in any worse trouble than being in a a relationship with me did?"

Eggsy grasps Harry's hand again. "Harry, they might have killed you--"

"As tonight demonstrated so clearly, keeping me in the dark certainly didn't take away that particular risk." Harry looks down at his drink, then takes a sip, trying to rein in his temper. "I'm not entirely sure I like the thought that you work for an organization that would murder an agent's family simply to keep their identity a secret."

Eggsy bites his lip. "I don't think they really would," he says uneasily. "They've threatened it, but..." he runs a shaking hand through his hair, "I can't believe they'd go through with it. But I couldn't take that risk."

"But it wasn't entirely  _your_ risk to take," says Harry, squeezing Eggsy's fingers within his. "It's  _my_ life. If risking it means I know what my husband actually does for a living, that's  _my_ prerogative."

 Eggsy nods, swallowing hard. "You're right," he admits. "I mean, I do my job and I'm  _good_ at it, so I won't apologize for that, but I _should_ have let you in on it long before now. No matter what Arthur says."

Harry drops his gaze to his drink. He watches a drop of condensation slide down the side of the glass and onto his hand. 

 “Harry,” whispers Eggsy, his voice thick, fingers clutching tighter at Harry’s other hand within his, “are we gonna be okay?” 

Harry looks down at their clasped fingers and sets his glass down on the low table in front of them. “I need some time,” he says, slowly withdrawing his hand. At the shattered look on Eggsy’s face, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his husband’s downturned mouth. “That’s not a no, darling,” he murmurs, tracing a gentle hand down the curve of Eggsy’s cheek. He stands, running his hands down his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles. “Ask me again tomorrow,” he says, reaching out for a final brush of his thumb along Eggsy’s jaw, before turning and leaving Eggsy alone in the living room.

 He silently makes his way to the bedroom, his mind whirring, still not entirely sure he hasn't fallen asleep on the sofa while watching _Mission Impossible_ and dreamed this entire evening's strange events.

 _How could Eggsy have kept this a secret for so long?_ he asks himself as he begins preparing for bed.  _How can I be sure he's telling me the truth?_  

He thinks about the day they met, at the shop (that apparently wasn't _just_ a shop--Harry idly wonders if there are secret exits behind the mirrors or the shelves), and how Harry's heart had skipped a beat when Eggsy's lovely eyes met his own.

He thinks about the first time they'd spent the night together, and how Eggsy had smiled his beautiful smile down at Harry as he slowly fucked into him, his slim hips moving lazily against Harry's like there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be than wrapped in Harry's arms and body.

He thinks about Eggsy smiling that same smile down into the nameless faces of his Kingsman assignments. He wonders if Eggsy's smile reaches his eyes when he fucks them, if his hips move in that same lazy rhythm. He wonders if Eggsy presses sloppy kisses along _their_ collarbones as he comes down from his orgasm. 

 _If you trust nothing else,_ _trust that I love you._

Eggsy's eyes had been almost haunted, desperate and pleading for Harry to understand. Harry _does_ understand, that's part of the problem. He's aware that secrecy is the standard in this particular line of work. But just because he might understand why Eggsy did it doesn't mean he's willing to just accept it.

He needs to stop thinking about it for a while. If he lets himself dwell, allows his churning thoughts to overwhelm his mind and heart, he'll never get past this, and he needs to.  _They_ need to. Harry's not really certain of much right now, but he knows he doesn't want to lose Eggsy. He  _does_ still love his husband, and he _does_ believe Eggsy's telling the truth about his own feelings. Even with all these secrets and lies, he wants to hope that they'll come up with a way to work through this the way they've worked through their differences in the past.

He smiles slightly despite himself as he smells traces of Eggsy’s cologne mingling with his own on the lapel of his dressing gown, bending his head and absently pressing his nose to the fabric as he knots the ties around his waist. His husband was always using Harry's dressing gown instead of his own, claiming Harry's was more comfortable. 

Shortly after he’s settled beneath the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, the door opens. “Sorry,” Eggsy whispers, “I’ll just change real quick and sleep in the other room.” He practically tiptoes over to the dresser, quietly opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of pajamas. 

Harry turns his head to watch him change, his eyes traveling lazily over the smooth skin of his husband’s muscular back and arse. Noticing the weary and resigned slump of Eggsy's shoulders, Harry makes a decision. When Eggsy finishes slipping on the pajamas and turns to go, Harry flips down the duvet and says, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, get in.” 

“I thought you needed to think until tomorrow?” Eggsy asks hesitantly, his green eyes fixing longingly on the empty space in the bed next to Harry.

“Technically, it _is_ tomorrow.” Harry points to the clock, which reads _00:25._ “I’m still not entirely happy with you and we still have much to discuss, but one thing I do know is I never sleep well when you're not here. So, please, get in the bed.”

 Surprised, Eggsy carefully slides beneath the covers and curls up on his side of the bed, face and body turned towards Harry, who is laying on his back, his gaze on the ceiling.

 “I want you to tell me," Harry blurts, breaking the silence. "From now on. When you go on your jobs. All of them. Even the ones where you have to fuck other people."

"Are you sure you want to know about those?" Eggsy's voice is hesitant. "I mean, they don't happen often, but they  _do_ happen."

Harry takes a deep breath, then nods, turning suddenly hot eyes onto his husband's. "I want you to tell me when you're going on one," he demands. "And when you get back, you will tell me _everything_. Then I'll fuck you until you can no longer remember your own name, much less theirs."

 Eggsy nods, his own eyes going bright with the same fire that shone in Harry's. “Okay,” he breathes, leaning over to kiss the hinge of Harry’s jaw. “Okay, yeah. And I’m so fucking sorry I lied to you. Never again. I swear it.”

 "We'll talk about it more tomorrow," Harry replies before yawning and reaching over to rest a hand on Eggsy's chest. Gentle fingers trace the bones of his wrist as he drifts off to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me [ on tumblr!](http://apugnamedjb.tumblr.com)


End file.
